Repetition 77
by atree
Summary: In which Homura goes insane. [The answer was so simple Homura wondered why she never thought of it.]


A/N: Don't ask, I don't know how this came to me. This will likely be my last entry into the Madoka fandom.

Warning: Mutilation and abuse.

Repetition #77

It started with a stray comment from Kyubey.

"Magical girls need to be healthy," he said. "What's the point of contracting someone who can't fight?"

The answer was so simple Homura wondered why she never thought of it.

* * *

><p>"You've been in the hospital for half a year?" Madoka said.<p>

"I have heart disease. I've had to take a lot of breaks from school," Homura said. The two of them sat in the cafeteria, eating their lunches amidst the easily-ignored glances of students curious about the new transfer student. Homura took a bite of her sandwich, chewed, swallowed, without tasting any of it. "That's why I have so much trouble with schoolwork. I haven't been keeping up. I was wondering if you could help me study."

"I'd be glad to help!" Madoka said, clapping her hands together. "We can meet at the library after school – "

"I was thinking we could go to my house."

"Your house?" Madoka's smile faltered. People didn't normally invite to their house someone they met less than an hour ago, but Madoka had always been too nice for her own good. "We can also invite Sayaka and Hitomi – "

"I'd prefer just us two. I'm not – I'm not ready to meet others yet."

She tried to put a quaver in her voice, tried to recall back to her first repetition when such shyness had been natural. Had it really been so long ago? Madoka smiled warmly, clasping Homura's hands in her own. "Of course. I understand. Don't worry, you'll make a lot of friends here. I'm sure of it."

No I won't, Homura thought. You're the only one I need.

* * *

><p>"You make great tea," Madoka said, taking a sip. "Aren't you going to drink yours?"<p>

"I'm not thirsty."

The table was strewn with books and pencils and paper filled with scrap work from the past hour. Madoka yawned, stretching back in her chair. "I think you'll be fine for the test next week. You picked up on this stuff a lot faster than I did."

"Sorry for bothering you. Do you want to stop?"

"No, no, I said I was going to help you, and that's what I'll do. Let's continue."

They were on their third set of quadratic equations when Madoka's head fell against the table, sending a collection of pencils rolling to the floor. "Madoka?" Homura said. She poked her cheek a few times, then forced open her eyelids. Still she didn't wake. Gently, she extricated Madoka from the table, holding her princess style. She was light, and very warm.

The next room was already set up. She stripped Madoka of her clothes and laid her out on the gurney, strapping down her arms and legs and neck. Her flesh was white and flawless under the fluorescent lights – so beautiful that Homura couldn't resist running a finger along her thigh, across the smooth navel and between the valley formed by her nascent breasts, before regretfully covering it all up with a sheet of cloth, leaving only her head and legs exposed. She fit the oxygen mask over Madoka's face. The anesthesia machine hissed, pneumatics whirring beneath stainless steel, soft and comforting.

She donned her pair of scrubs and face mask, both of which were too large for her. Everything had been stolen from the hospital. But the most difficult part of the preparation had not been the theft but the knowledge. Medical textbooks were dense, complicated things. If there was one thing Akemi Homura had in abundance, however, it was time. That, and subjects to practice on.

She took out the bone saw.

* * *

><p>Homura sat by her side until she woke up. She rested her fingers on Madoka's wrist, where the IV drip made a small bump on the skin. The late afternoon sun shone through the window, lighting on the pink bed sheets already soaking through again with blood, despite her best efforts. When Madoka's eyes opened, Homura said softly, "How are you feeling?"<p>

Madoka's words were slow and slurred from the anesthesia. "What…happened?"

"You're safe now. No more contracts. Go back to sleep."

Madoka blinked once, twice, very slowly. She looked down the space where her legs used to be. The stumps twitched.

"I had…a terrible dream."

"Go back to sleep," Homura said. "When you wake up, everything will be fine."

Madoka closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>"It's time for lunch," Homura said, stepping through the bedroom door. "I made soup."<p>

Madoka lay slumped against the pillow, exactly as Homura had left her. She was paler than before, and sweating. Homura set the tray on the nightstand. "It's time for lunch," she said again. When Madoka made no movement she pressed a spoonful of the soup to her lips. Her lips remained closed. The soup dribbled down her chin, thick and white.

"You need to eat," Homura said, wiping her chin with a napkin. This time she forced open her mouth and fed her, tilting her head backwards so she would swallow. When she saw the bob of her throat she prepared a second spoonful.

"I don't understand why you would do this," Madoka whispered.

"Your body needs nutrients. The healing process requires – "

"Why did you cut off my legs?"

Homura settled the spoon back in the bowl. "I did it for you. Now, you can never become a magical girl. Your life will never be in danger. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

Madoka began to cry.

"Everything will be alright," Homura said. She wiped away Madoka's tears, so warm. She kissed her on the forehead. "It hurts – I know. The pain will be gone soon. You need to eat. It's the only way to get better. If you eat the pain will be gone, and then you'll be happy again. Everything will be alright."

* * *

><p>Holding her as if holding a child, Homura carried Madoka to the bathroom. She lowered her into the water, already cooled to lukewarm so as to not aggravate the wound. The water ran pink where her stumps touched. Bar of soap in hand, she scrubbed Madoka's body. The skin was yellow and sagging, pockmarked by postoperative bruises where blood had pooled and bloated. You are beautiful, Homura thought, sliding her hand against the skin. You are perfect.<p>

* * *

><p>It was several days before Madoka spoke again. Her voice was dry, crackling like gravel in a sieve, so soft Homura had to lean in to hear her.<p>

"I want to see my mother."

Homura shook her head.

"Why not?"

"She wouldn't understand," Homura said, caressing her cheek. "No one would understand. It doesn't matter. You don't need anyone else. You have me."

"I want to see my friends. I don't want to stay here. I want to see – I want to see Sayaka, and Hitomi, and…" she buried her face in her arms. "Why did you do this to me? I don't want this!"

"You're confused," Homura said, wrapping her arms around her. "You're just confused from the pain medication. It's okay. You'll understand it soon. We're all each other need."

* * *

><p>School was a prison for her. She wanted to be back home, where Madoka was, holding her frail, warm body in her arms, feeding her spoonfuls of soup, wiping away the tears from the corners of her eyes. But school was a necessary thing – people would get suspicious if two girls disappeared on the same day. Already the police were questioning the students. "I don't know," Homura said. "She showed me around when I transferred over but I haven't seen her afterwards." They didn't ask further. Sometimes, being hospitalized for most of your life could be a benefit.<p>

During third period she couldn't stand it any longer. "I'm not feeling well," she said. The words were magic – another benefit of being sick. The nurse didn't even bother taking her vitals before sending her home.

When she unlocked the bedroom door, she found Madoka crawling on the table, trying to open the window.

She lay flat on her stomach, arms struggling to turn the latch. Blood soaked through her bandages, marking a red trail from where she had crawled out of bed onto the nightstand – knocking over the bowl of soup that was supposed to be her lunch in the process – and lowered herself to the floor, where she dragged herself across the room and lifted herself onto the chair, then onto the table. Her skin was covered with sweat. When Homura entered she froze.

"What are you doing?"

"This – this isn't what it looks like. I thought – I thought it would be nice to – some fresh air…"

"I thought you understood," Homura said softly. "I thought you understood that all I've done was for you."

Madoka was crying again, curled into a ball on the table, her arms wrapped around her stumps. "Please don't hurt me anymore," she sobbed. "If you let me go I swear I won't tell anyone – "

"I would never hurt you," Homura said, picking her up. She carried her back to the bed, tucking her underneath the covers. "I know you won't try something like that ever again."

* * *

><p>Anesthesia had been running low. Homura had only stolen enough for one operation. She felt Madoka's muscles tense under the knife, her entire body trying to buck free of the restraints. Her eyes bulged beneath the oxygen mask, and she was screaming, screaming, her voice muffled by the plastic, screaming as Homura cut off the last of her limbs.<p>

* * *

><p>"Did you enjoy it? I know cream soup is your favorite," Homura said, putting down the empty bowl. "I made it with extra milk, just the way you like it."<p>

Madoka stared forward with unfocused pupils. There were heavy bags under her eyes – she had not been sleeping, and it was too risky to give her narcotics. Neither had she spoken. Neither had she moved. She was paler than she had ever been, almost translucent, vivid green and blue veins spiderwebbing across her skin. Her ribs showed through her chest, flesh sagging against the bone. When Homura pressed her finger against the groove of her neck the heartbeat was weak and slow.

She unwrapped the bandages covering the stumps of her arms. The bandages were soaked with pus, brownish-yellow. "It's looking much better," she lied as she started a fresh wrap. "The sutures are holding up. There's going to be a scar but don't worry, you can hide it with your clothes. Nobody will even be able to tell."

* * *

><p>Homura never left her side, changing her bandages, feeding her, washing her. Homura slept in intermittent stretches sitting on the chair with her head on the bed. It was bliss – Madoka was the last thing she saw before she fell asleep, Madoka was the first thing she saw when she woke. Nobody else, she thought. There is nobody else in the world who would dedicate themselves to you as I do. But despite all her efforts Madoka grew paler and paler, her heartbeat softer and softer, and the room became permeated with the smell of gangrene.<p>

"I know you're happy," Homura said, stroking her hair. "The surgery just makes it difficult to talk. I understand. You love me, don't you? I love you, too."

She kissed her. For an instant there was a spark of life in Madoka, her body violently recoiling, but Homura grasped her shoulders and held her there. Seventy-six times she had dreamed of this. So this was what Madoka tasted like – she was as sweet as Homura had imagined, like chocolate dipped in milk, so strong Homura felt drunk on her essence. When they parted a thin trail of saliva connected their lips. Gently, she pushed Madoka down on her back. She got on top of her, legs straddling her sides, careful not to touch the stumps. She began to unbutton Madoka's shirt.

"I hate you."

Homura froze. "What did you say?"

"I hate you."

Homura laughed. "That's the Madoka I know. Always telling jokes."

"I hate you."

Homura laughed again. It was so funny she cried. "Why would you say such hurtful things?" she said. Her tears dripped down onto Madoka's face. She stared into those dull, unblinking eyes and saw herself, then, saw herself as Madoka saw her, and she could not look further. She ran her shaking hands over Madoka's breasts and up her shoulders and around her neck. She squeezed. "All I ever wanted was to protect you. You're the most precious person in the world to me. You understand, right? You love me. I love you. I love you. I love you."

Madoka's body convulsed beneath her. She began to choke, coughing up a filmy black substance. Homura tightened her grip, fingernails digging in so hard she drew blood. Warm and wet and beautiful, still beautiful.

Madoka smiled.

At last she stopped moving. Homura bent down and kissed those cold lips.

"Sleep well," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "When you wake up everything will be as it should be."


End file.
